


...And They Were Roommates

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Holding [29]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Inspired By Tumblr, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: As Patrice drives them both to the practice arena, he does his best to ignore Brad’s bitching and moaning about being hungover. Part of him realizes that Brad’s completely at fault for it, but a much larger part wants to turn around, go home, wrap Brad in blankets and load him up on Gatorade until he starts feeling better. And Patrice hates that much larger part, because it’s constantly causing him pain.And now, apparently, he’ll be helping to oust Brad’s hook-ups in the mornings.





	...And They Were Roommates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abellyofjelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abellyofjelly/gifts).



> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://abellyofjellywrites.tumblr.com/post/186469170604/were-roommates-and-i-pretend-to-be-your-signif), which reads: [“We’re roommates and I pretend to be your signif to scare off your one night stands” AU] with a tag that reads: [this screams marcheron this screams marcheron this screams marcheron].
> 
> This fic is best read imagining them at much younger ages than they are right now, so probably within the first three years of Marchy being in the NHL. Also way less homophobia than in real life.
> 
> So, my pairing hiatus has ended, apparently. It lasted 23 days.
> 
> Dear abellyofjelly, as it was your Tumblr I saw this on, I am gifting this work to you because I'm pretty sure I stole your idea. If I did, please forgive me, and I hope you enjoy the fic.

The door opens and Brad freezes, because he completely forgot about the couch until now. And the couch can be perfectly seen from the door. Which means Patrice notices it immediately and gets pissed.

“Brad, what the hell!” he yells, looking between the couch and the kitchen where Terry, Brad’s one night stand, is leaning on the counter.

“I can explain,” is what comes out of his mouth, even though the explanation is a pretty simple one. He forgot about their Couch Rule: no banging strangers on the communal sitting furniture.

“I think I should go,” Terry decides, and at least he’s already dressed so it doesn’t take that long. He glares at Brad on the way out, which - why?

Whatever. At least he’s gone, Brad isn’t looking for a relationship but that guy seemed to be fishing for one.

“So thanks for that, I had no idea how I was gonna get rid of him,” he admits, sighing with relief.

“You’re welcome!” Patrice snaps. “I thought we agreed not on the couch, man! Go disinfect it!” He jabs a finger.

Brad scrambles to grab the Lysol from under the sink; nothing technically got on the couch, but he knows Patrice has a thing about this so it doesn’t matter that he’s hungover and still in just his boxers. He hoses the cushions down and then sits on the floor because the walls are spinning again and his brain is throbbing inside his skull.

He looks over at where his friend is still glaring at him: “Hey, he looked mad when he left…”

“What?”

“Terry.”

Patrice’s glower turns into a frown. Then he starts chuckling. “Uh, he probably misread that situation… me coming in all pissed, he probably thought I’m your boyfriend…”

Brad flops back onto the carpet and laughs hysterically. “Shit, for real? At least it got him to leave after…”

Patrice drops his jacket and sits next to Brad on the floor. “He wanted more than you were ready to give, huh?”

“Yeah, at least I didn’t have to use that tired fucking line… Bergy, you should keep doing that! Then I won’t have to always chase them out!”

“You’re such a dick sometimes, Bradley… wait, how much did you drink? We have practice in two hours!”

“Yeah, I may not be able to do that, I’m still pretty gross.”

“Oh my god.” Patrice drags him up off the floor and over to the bathroom. “Get in the shower, Marchy, you’re going to practice whether you like it or not.”

* * *

As Patrice drives them both to the practice arena, he does his best to ignore Brad’s bitching and moaning about being hungover. Part of him realizes that Brad’s completely at fault for it, but a much larger part wants to turn around, go home, wrap Brad in blankets and load him up on Gatorade until he starts feeling better. And Patrice hates that much larger part, because it’s constantly causing him pain.

And now, apparently, he’ll be helping to oust Brad’s hook-ups in the mornings.

 _I hate you, Bradley,_ Patrice thinks even though there isn’t a single thing he could say or think that could possibly be less true. _I hate you and your stupid one night stands and how you always fuck them someplace stupid like the couch or the kitchen table or MY BED THAT ONE TIME._

“Bergy are you still mad?” Brad asks. “You look like you’re still pissed about the couch.”

“We talked about this, Marchy,” he answers, rubbing his forehead because they’re at a light and it’s safe to do so. “You promised to not keep using the couch. I have to sit there too and it’s not fair. You have a bed. We have a shower. You know what, there’s plenty of perfectly good _floors_ in our apartment, so you have no excuse.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Brad mumbles, and at least he obviously does feel bad about it. “There’s just something awesome about getting fucked over the arm of a couch, and I was drunk too… I’m sorry, Pat. I’ll do better.”

Patrice needs a second to put two and two together. “Wait, you were the one getting…?”

“He wore a rubber. The lights were on the whole time, I saw him take it off after.”

He breathes out. “Okay. Good. I don’t want you to get sick, Marchy.”

Patrice refuses to feel jealous. (Who are these guys who get to just fuck Brad?) They’re roommates, they’re best friends, they’re lineys. (Why can’t Patrice at least be one of those guys, too?) That’s a lot, they’re very close as it is, and Brad’s never expressed any interest in him before. (At least Patrice actually cares about him - none of those random guys does, they just want someone to bone.) Besides, Patrice doesn’t date very often and most of the time when he does it’s with a woman, so maybe it just doesn’t occur to Brad that Patrice is available. (And Brad deserves better than that, too, he should get snuggled and cherished both before and after sex and woken up with kisses in the morning.)

At least Brad seems happy with the state of things. (Patrice isn’t.)

“Oh my god, Bergy, it’s just a fucking couch! If you’re that freaked out about it I’ll fucking buy us a new one!” Brad yells from the passenger seat.

“Huh?”

“You’re just so obviously pissed about this, I already said I’ll do better next time,” Brad pouts. “What can I do to make you not mad at me anymore?”

“What? Nothing, I’m not that mad, it’s fine.”

(It’s not fine.)

* * *

Brad feels like such a dick - why did he ask Patrice for this? His best friend already puts up with so much shit from him as it is. But it’s just so helpful… and easy. He doesn’t have to come up with excuses, doesn’t have to explain that he can’t really commit to a relationship while he’s still fucking head-over-heels for a straight guy. Because he is, he so is, fuck, Brad loves Patrice and it’s just not fucking fair.

But it’s also kind of spectacular when Patrice dramatically barges into the apartment, already red-faced and pissed and holy shit Brad never knew he was such a good actor, screaming at the top of his lungs how he can’t believe Brad did this to him, why isn’t he good enough, what the fuck. For a few seconds, Brad’s actually convinced that they’re in a relationship and he just got caught cheating, never mind that cheating is something he’s never done. Then when the guy is gone, they both start laughing and just can’t stop.

It goes like this for a few weeks, and at first Brad doesn’t feel guilty about it because it’s so amusing and so easy. But then he starts to notice - Patrice seems to not find it funny anymore, actually he looks really fucking sad. Somehow, Brad knows it’s completely his fault that his best friend is so down, even though he has no idea how it happened. He doesn’t say anything, though, because Patrice doesn’t say anything either. If Patrice wanted him to know, then he’d know, so since he doesn’t know he should just play dumb.

Except for when they come back after a home game one night, and after Brad gets upstairs he suddenly realizes he’s by himself. He tosses his stuff inside the door of the apartment, not even bothering to lock it, then goes back down the stairs and finds Patrice still in the car. His head rests on the steering wheel, partly covered by his arms, and he’s visibly shaking… he’s crying. There’s literally no reason why Patrice should be crying in the car after a win, so Brad gets scared. He goes around to the other side and gets back in.

“Pat, what’s going on?”

A muffled sniff. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, obviously. Now for real this time, what’s going on, Bergy?” Brad’s chest actually hurts seeing this. It’s so fucking ugly, knowing Patrice is this unhappy, and Brad needs to know how to fix it.

“You know the reason you sit and cry in the car is so that your roommate won’t see you,” Patrice mumbles.

“Uh… okay. Do you want me to go?”

A pause. “No.”

Brad thinks. “Do you want a hug?”

It takes a second, but Patrice nods. Brad gets out of the car, then opens the other side to pull his friend out after him, and they head upstairs to their apartment. Standing just inside the door, Brad grabs onto Patrice and gives the best, most secure, Grade-A award-worthy hug he can. He hates this, he hates how sad his best friend is, and it’s probably his fault so he hates himself too for making it happen.

And then there’s this: “Are you hooking up tonight, Marchy?”

Brad has no idea why that got asked, but… “No, I mean, something’s wrong with you so I’ll just stay here instead until you’re okay again.”

They end up sitting in the living room, eating leftover chicken penne alfredo and flipping mindlessly on the tv. Brad wanted to press right up to him, to lean into his warmth and kiss him. But he also wants to know why Patrice is unhappy, because it needs to be fixed so Brad should be the one to fix it.

* * *

Patrice doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

Sitting on the plane as they travel to Edmonton, he has way too much time to think, pretending to listen to music when actually his headphones are off and he can hear Brad a few seats away yelling and joking like always. (Which isn’t creepy at all, seriously.) It seemed harmless the first couple times, when Brad would text him saying _yeah it’s another one of those_ and Patrice would come charging into their apartment the next morning to scare away a hook-up that Brad thought was too clingy. (Too clingy for Brad Marchand? Yes, this is apparently a thing, and it took Patrice completely by surprise as a concept.)

So Patrice would burst through the door, yelling and screaming all kinds of stupid things. He made sure to never be too specific, because these staged tantrums were in fact actual tantrums that he’d never have the chance to throw otherwise. Everything he said was something he’d thought before, quiet selfish thoughts that he felt awful for having and that occasionally kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.

It’s happened four times by now. The most recent one, a week before Patrice had his breakdown in the car, had ended with him demanding: “Why can’t you just love me?”

He hadn’t meant to say that one, though. It was stupid. Patrice didn’t want to let that one slip, but it did, and now he’s scared of what might come out of his mouth the next time Brad asks him for help. Because it hurts, more intensely than he thought it would, every time he sees his best friend with a different guy. A different guy who got to touch Brad, who got to fuck him, who got to lay in his bed all night after, who didn’t love him and probably didn’t even really like him that much. It’s getting to the point where Patrice finds it impossible to deal with or even to think about, and he needs it to stop. Something has to change.

When they land, Brad comes over: “Hey, we have a couple hours before curfew, let’s go eat.”

Their stuff is dropped off in separate hotel rooms and then they head for a place that does Thai food. Pad Thai, peanut noodles, two large servings of spring onion soup. Being uncultured Canadians, they go against their meal plans and have diet sodas to drink.

“Brad, can we talk about this thing you’ve been having me do?” Patrice asks quietly between bites.

“It’s like you read my mind, bro. I thought you can only do that when we’re wearing skates,” Brad grins.

Patrice tries to smile back, but he just can’t. “You can go first.”

“Yeah, uh. So like, I was just thinking that we don’t have to keep doing that. It was kind of an easy out for me, but something about it’s bugging you, so… I don’t really know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry for whatever it is that made you so upset. I need to just buck up and explain to these guys that I’m not emotionally available and shit. Also I’m gonna have hook-ups over less often, too. It’s not fair to keep kicking you out so I can get laid. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m a shitty friend and a shitty roommate and I’m sorry for all those things.”

Brad’s not looking at him anymore, instead glaring down at the table like it personally wronged him somehow. Patrice is so surprised by all this that for a few seconds he can’t remember what he was going to say.

“Marchy, I… you don’t have to be sorry, okay? You’re a great friend and I know you need lots of attention and physical contact, you don’t have to stop going out to clubs and finding sex just because of me.” Patrice stops and thinks. “I was going to ask if you can have me intervene less often, though. It’s kind of - I don’t really like doing that, saying all those stupid things and - it’s just getting really uncomfortable for me, that’s all. So thank you for offering to stop with that. And… wait why did you say emotionally unavailable? You’re more in touch with your emotions than any other guy I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of… have a thing for a straight guy, and… until that goes away, I can’t have a relationship because I’m always just thinking of this straight guy and wishing I was with him instead.”

Hearing that kind of makes Patrice want to start crying like in the car, because - what straight guy? Why a straight guy? Brad will take _straight guys_ over him, now…

“Oh,” is all he chokes out. He’s completely lost his appetite.

“Come on, Pat, what did I say? Everything I say these days is the wrong thing, what the hell do I keep doing that’s fucking you up so bad? Just - for the love of god, shorthanded goals, and the lives of the rest of our team, just please tell me what I’m doing so I can stop it,” Brad begs, also about to cry now. He looks horrified and indecisive, not understanding his error.

Patrice takes a deep breath to steady himself, because they can’t go on like this.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Marchy,” he answers quietly, watching his food instead of Brad. He knows that if he looks at Brad when he says what he’s about to say, then he _will_ start crying, right here in public. “It just…” He swallows. “It just hurts, that’s all, and it’s kind of on me for not just telling you the truth because now we just renewed our lease so we’re still stuck together for five and a half months. So if you want space after this you can’t get it… I’m sure we can work something out, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can. But. You. This is going to sound pretty awful and selfish of me, but it hurts having you always bring these random guys home with you from clubs and apparently you’re interested in some straight guy when I was right there the whole time. And it’s stupid, okay? I shouldn’t just sit here and think ‘well why not me,’ because I know it doesn’t work that way and you like who you like. I just wanted it to be me and it never was.”

Patrice stops talking, sits in silence so that Brad can process all that. He doesn’t know how he’ll handle the rejection that he knows is coming, it’s like being tied to train tracks about to get run over, except he’s the one who tied himself there in the first place.

“But… aren’t you straight, Bergy?” Brad finally asks.

Patrice was one hundred percent not expecting that question. “No. I thought you knew.”

“Uh, yeah, I actually didn’t. So you’re bi?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Brad clears his throat and Patrice finally looks at him - he’s fidgeting the way he does when they’re about to go into sudden death overtime. “Uh. So. Here’s the thing, Pat… I kind of have to undo part of what I said before.”

“Why? Which part?”

“Apparently this guy I have a thing for isn’t straight after all.”

Patrice needs an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots on that one. When he does, his response is a very intelligent “What?”

“Come on, man, it’s not that hard.” Brad’s smiling slowly and playing with his spoon, eyes going back and forth between it and meeting Patrice’s gaze. “I wish I knew that sooner, I would’a said something. I thought you’re not into dick.”

Patrice rubs his face with his palm, and then - totally unprovoked - he starts laughing. “We’re so stupid.”

Brad follows suit, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with one hand to try and muffle the noise. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

Somehow, they manage to finish eating on time and walk back to the hotel holding hands. (Hopefully nobody that sees them knows who they are, otherwise the tabloids will have a field day tomorrow.) Reaching Brad’s door, there’s nobody else in the hall at the moment so Patrice lets himself get pulled down into a kiss. It’s very light, someone could come their way at any time, but it fills a hole in his chest. There needs to be more talking about this, of course. Relationships take work, and who knows what the team and management will have to say, but… Patrice doesn’t care about any of that right now.

Going to his own hotel room, Patrice smiles to himself and thinks that the first thing he’ll do when they get home to Boston is break his own rule and fuck Brad over the arm of the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> Bergy played through a collapsed lung, I totally see him suffering through something like this because he thinks it's helping Marchy. Which is really terrible when you stop and think about it, if this fic was real life.
> 
> Please comment.


End file.
